Posthuman
by snake eyes and sissies
Summary: After everything goes down in Felina, Jesse leaves ABQ to start over in Alaska. Things don't go as planned and he ends up on the streets, once again an addict, until someone comes along to help. Warnings: OMC, not slash, daddy issues, drug withdrawal and physical/mental abuse. NOTE: This is posted on my AO3 account under the title "Desolation Row".
1. Chapter 1

After all that had happened, Jesse felt that he had to leave. He couldn't say in Albuquerque anymore, probably couldn't even go back to visit. It was too much, too hard to drive through it and relive it all.

So Jesse took the little money that he'd stashed away, packed a few possessions into his car, and headed out of state, north west towards Alaska for a fresh start.

Five years later

00

Jesse had gotten to Alaska, but he hadn't stayed long. He knew it would be cold, but it was far worse than he expected. Without snow chains, his tires didn't make it past a week. Jobs had been hard to come by, too. He had little true, legal work experience to speak of. Ultimately, he had ended up at a little building near the docks, gutting fish. The smell of the place made the meth chemicals seem like a field of roses.

The job itself was miserable, too. The inside of the building was almost as cold as the outside, and most of the people working there were life-long residents and not open to outsiders. After getting into a fight with the boss about the heating situation, Jesse left and headed back down south.

In the years since, he'd traveled extensively, seeing much of the north west - little towns in Oregon, the mountains of Montana and Colorado. He'd been to California and had stayed there for a while, too.

Jesse's main problem, though, was that he never found stable employment. That was mostly his fault and he knew it.

Truth be told, most of the money that he'd made in Alaska had gone to drugs. Jesse wasn't sure exactly when, but at some point, the memories had gotten to be too much. They ate away at him, causing him sleepless nights and a knot in his stomach that never seemed to fade. The heroin took that away, at least somewhat. It made him calm, but at a cost. He'd resorted to living out of his car, doing odd jobs for money to buy more smack.

It wasn't a good life, but Jesse got by. The more dope that he did, the more the past fell away. He forgot about Jane, and about Drew Sharp. About Combo and the plane crash and his family - about his parents who didn't want him, his dead Aunt Jenny and the friends that he'd left behind. He did briefly wonder what had happened to the home that he'd abandoned - surely, he owed a ton of taxes on it, but without a fixed address, the town couldn't find him, so it wasn't really a concern.

00

It was a rainy Thursday when Jesse's car had broken down. He took it to a mechanic, but the thing was shot. It would have cost more money to repair then it would have to buy a new car, and Jesse didn't have enough to do either.

So, he had taken to living on the streets. He didn't have much of a choice. Still addicted to the smack, he looked for work, but again found nothing. No one wanted to hire some kid who lived under a bridge. So, he earned money the only way he felt he could – putting out.

Jesse's clients were both male and female. He took on men because of necessity more so than choice. The females tended to be nicer while the men seemed to enjoy abusing him.

On the plus side, Jesse often saw the same clients over and over. He had moved out east and settled in a small town in Missouri, for the time being, and there didn't seem to be that many people there. This afforded him the advanced knowledge of what he was going to be in for.

Weeks of life sleeping on sidewalks, under bridges and occasionally in fields took their toll, though. Jesse showered whenever he could, but sometimes he would go days without, and he often only made enough to afford either drugs or food, not both. More often than not, he chose the drugs.

He had become so thin that his clothes were practically falling off. He attempted to use an electric cord that he had pulled from the trash as a belt, but it only went so far. Scars also littered his arms, advertising his status as an addict.

The problem here was that, the worse his appearance became, the harder time he had getting and keeping customers.

Thus, when he was approached by a new person – an older man, tall, thin, with grey hair, a beard and glasses – Jesse jumped at the opportunity.

The man had found him in the parking lot behind the only supermarket in town. He was carrying bags of groceries, so Jesse assumed that the man hadn't been there actively looking for him.

At first, the man stood there for a few seconds, quietly looking Jesse over. Wanting to make a decent impression, or at least seem interested, Jesse forced himself to stand up.

The man just continued to stare.

"You're Jesse?" The man finally asked.

"Yeah, that's me," Jesse replied. "You know me?"

"I've heard of you. Not many people like you in town."

The words weren't spoken with anger, disgust or anything to that extent. Jesse wasn't sure how to take it.

"Okay…" He took a deep breath. "Do you, uh…Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I have some work you can help me with," the man replied. "If you're okay with coming back to my house."

Not feeling as if he were in any position to argue, Jesse agreed.

"Yeah, okay."

The man nodded, and led Jesse over to his truck.


	2. Chapter 2

The man's ride wasn't anything much to speak of. A small beat up red Ford that had no hubcaps. The interior was clean, though. Jesse watched as the man loaded his groceries into the back before unlocking the front passenger side door.

"There ya go," the man said, walking around to the driver's side.

Jesse quietly got in and the two took off.

00

After half an hour of driving, it became clear to Jesse that they were going somewhere outside of town. Somewhere rural. They passed fields of corn and other crops, followed by fields of grass wherein cows grazed. While the scenery was beautiful, Jesse couldn't shake the fear that maybe this guy was one of the bad ones – one of those clients that female prostitutes often feared – the type who would beat you to death and leave you in a ditch.

The man, who had been driving silently, must have picked up on Jesse's nervousness.

"It's a bit of a trip, I know," the man said. "But I prefer living out here, away from the traffic and noise. It's not too far off now."

"Okay…"

The man nodded, and kept on driving.

00

True to the man's word, they soon arrived at their destination. The place wasn't exactly what Jesse had expected, though he had to admit he was impressed. The man lived in an old, big farm house. It had a large wrap around porch set with rocking chairs and plants hanging down in baskets from the ceiling.

The house itself looked to have at least two floors. The exterior was painted blue, but the paint was chipping. Still, the place seemed to have some type of charm to it.  
As the man unloaded his groceries, a dog ran out through a doggy door, down the porch and over to the car.

"Sweetie!" The man greeted the dog, smiling. He reached down and pet her head.

"She's a beagle?" Jesse asked.

"Yup. She's a good girl. Sweetie, go say hi to Jesse."

The dog glanced over at him, then slowly moved closer. Jesse held out his hand for Sweetie to sniff.

"Ah, looks like she likes you," the man said, still smiling.

"Cool."

Now that the guy had all of his bags, he nodded towards the door.

"You can follow me inside."

00

The inside of the house matched the outside in that it looked worn, but inviting. Granted, Jesse had only seen the living room and kitchen thus far.

Right now, he was standing near the table - an old, worn wooden thing that looked like it had seen better days - while the man sorted his groceries on the equally worn counter top.

"So…uh… you got a name?" Jesse asked.

"Christopher."

"Okay."

There was silence again as the man began to stock his refrigerator and cabinets. Christopher didn't speak up until he was finished.

"I've got some work to do outside, and was hoping you could help me. I'd pay you, of course. I'm sure the job would go faster with a younger, stronger guy doing it."

Jesse raised an eyebrow. He had been under the impression that this man wanted something from him sexually.

"You mean, like, work-work?"

"Yeah." Christopher sighed, "Not like… what you're used to. I need someone to help me paint the siding."

"Oh."

"Are you up for that?"

"Yeah. I can do that."

"Great. Well, let's get going."

00

Jesse hadn't realized how warm out it was. The area behind the market where he had been staying was shaded and cool, but Christopher's yard seemed to get direct sunlight. He also felt confused as to why they were painting this small little patch of siding, while the rest of the houses' paint was peeling. He didn't want to insult Christopher, though.

The work itself was easy, but the heat was making Jesse tired. Not only that, he hadn't taken a hit in hours. He was starting to come down, and it didn't feel good.

"You okay, there?" Christopher asked.

Jesse wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.

"Fine," he answered. He picked up his paintbrush and dipped it into the bucket again.

"Alright. You want some water?"

"No." He just wanted to get this done as quickly as possible, so he could get his money, go back to town, find his dealer and take a hit.

Christopher didn't press him any further. The two worked quietly for another half hour. It was then that Jess


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews!**

When Jesse woke up, the first thing that he noticed was that he was cold. Cold, and wet. He cracked his eyes open in an attempt to look around.

"Welcome back."

Jesse tried to look in the direction of the voice - Christopher's voice, but his vision was blurry. He could make out the older man's form, though. He was sitting on the edge of the bathtub that Jesse now realized he was in.

"Why the fuck am I here?" Jesse asked, trying to sit up.

Christopher shook his head and gently pushed Jesse back.

"You fainted out back. I think you got heat stroke, you were real flushed and sweating a lot. It was either cool down in the bathtub or go to the hospital, and I didn't think you'd like going to a hospital."

"You're right," Jesse mumbled. He could feel something on his legs, rubbing up against his skin, and reached down to touch it.

"I left your boxers on," Christopher explained.

"Thanks."

A second later, Jesse began to shiver. He tried to control it - tried to tell his body to stop - but he couldn't. The thing was, he wasn't shaking because the water was so cold. No, Jesse knew what was happening. This was the first stage of withdrawal.

"...Fuck," he said, again.

Christopher frowned.

"Probably about time we got you out, anyway."

Jesse moved to get up. Christopher held out his hands, spotting Jesse in case he were to fall. When he was on his feet, Christopher wrapped one arm around him, while reaching for a towel with the other.

"Here," he said, as he wrapped the towel around Jesse's waist. Being as thin as he was, Christopher had no problem tying the two ends in a knot to keep it up. He wrapped a second one around Jesse's shoulders and helped him out of the bath.

"Now what?" Jesse asked. He was staring down at the bathwater, which looked almost grey - a testament to how filthy he must have been.

"Now you rest for a while."

Christopher tried to pulled Jesse along, but the younger man didn't budge.

"No… I gotta go back."

"Back where?" Christopher looked genuinely confused.

"Back! Back to where I was, or it's gonna get worse…"

"You mean back to the street?"

"There's no choice…" Jesse felt sad even saying that, but it was true. He had to go, now, or the withdrawal was going to get worse.

Christopher sighed again.

"There's always a choice. You can stay here, if you want. There's no one else, and it's better than living outside."

Jesse looked down at his feet, feeling unable to meet Christopher's gaze.

"But I'm going to get sick."

"And then you'll get better."

"I…" Jesse started, but he felt his legs starting to weak. He probably wouldn't have been able to even get to his dealer in this state.

"Yeah, okay."

Christopher smiled and helped Jesse out of the room.

00

Christopher took Jesse to another room just down the hall. He opened the door, revealing a bedroom. It was sparsly decorated, but it would do. A queen-sized bed sat in the middle, layered with a feather down comforter and a warm looking quilt on top of it.

"Now, your boxers are wet...I'll leave so you can get them off and get into bed."

Jesse shrugged tiredly.

"Whatever."

He dropped the towel around his waist and pulled his boxers off as well. He didn't feel well enough to do anything else.

Christopher didn't say anything. Rather, he pulled the quilt back so that Jesse could get in.

The bed was comfortable, but Jesse still felt cold, and he knew it would only get worse. He was still shaking.

"I'll be right back," Christopher said. He walked out, but returned quickly, holding another blanket.

"Here." He covered Jesse with it.

"Thanks…"

Jesse curled up, wrapping the blankets around himself. He was so tired, and his body was starting to hurt. Next would come the cold sweats and hot flashes and puking and diarrhea. Things were definitely going to get worse before they got better. For now, though, he decided just to try and enjoy the luxury of sleeping on an actual mattress. It was so much nicer than the concrete that he was used to.

00

Christopher disappeared, leaving Jesse to rest. For a few hours, he slept soundly, probably more soundly than he had in months. But then the nightmares started. Flashbacks of the train robbery, and of Todd shooting the kid. He woke up screaming when Drew fell to the ground.

Jesse could hear Christopher's footsteps as he made his way towards the bedroom. He knew that he had only been dreaming, but he still felt hysterical. Maybe it was because of the withdrawal. He wasn't sure. The screams gave way to sobs and before he knew it, he was crying. Christopher soon appeared at his side.

"What happened?" He asked, stunned by the sight before him.

Jesse shook his head, again unwilling to look the man in the eyes. He didn't deserve to have someone worry about him, or come running in to look after him.

"Kid, tell me what happened," Christopher said, more seriously.

His tone of voice reminded Jesse of Mike, and that just made him hurt even more.

"Oh, God…" He sobbed, wrapping his arms around himself.

Christopher stood there, unsure of what to do. Then Jesse started heaving.

"Jesus Christ," Christopher mumbled. He reached for a garbage pail that wasn't too far off from the bed, shoving it into Jesse's hands just in time.

Jesse could feel his stomach muscles contracting, but nothing came out of his mouth. Just some spit and bile. He hadn't eaten much lately, so that made sense, but the bile burned his throat. He dry heaved a few more times before whimpering pathetically.

Caught up in his own misery, he almost forgot that Christopher was there until he felt a hand touch his forehead. It felt good - cool against his now hot skin, and he unconsciously leaned into it, catching himself only after a few seconds had passed.

"It's alright," Christopher said, taking the pail from Jesse's hands. He placed a hand on Jesse's back and rubbed up and down a few times, but it seemed almost forced.

After Jesse seemed to calm down, Christopher spoke up.

"I'll be right back."

Christopher left, and, like the first time, came back very quickly, this time holding a bottle of orange liquid. He twisted the cap off.

"Do you think you're going to throw up again?"

"Not right now…" Jesse looked up at him. He knew that he must have looked like absolute shit. This guy was definitely going to throw him out soon - even if the man hadn't wanted to have sex, there was no way that he was going to keep some ugly sick guy around for the hell of it.

"You need to try to drink something. You're very dehydrated," Christopher said, matter of factly. "Here." He handed the bottle over to Jesse. It was Gatorade.

Though he feared that it might make him sick, Jesse took a sip, deciding that puking was better than dying of thirst. When he managed to keep it down, he took another sip, eventually drinking a quarter of the bottle. He handed it back to Christopher, who put it on the nightstand.

"I'm sorry," Jesse said, softly. He had laid down and curled up again.

"There's nothing to be sorry for. Even the best of us get sick sometimes."

Jesse shook his head.

"Christopher… Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you doing this? You don't know me. I could be some ax murderer for all you know! And I'm not doing anything for you, not giving you anything, so why?"

Christopher quietly thought his answer over carefully.

"First off, I know that you're not an ax murderer. You know someone by the name of Violet Adams, right?"

"Older lady, real big boobs, grey hair?"

"That'd be her. I know her as well, and she told me about you."

Jesse almost wanted to cringe. Some old lady was going around telling people about the dicking he'd given her, most likely.

"Ugh…" he sighed.

"Not… Not like that. She told me that you're a good man and that you needed help."

"So?" Jesse was getting irritated.

"So I live alone here, and thought that I might be able to help you somehow. She told me where you like to hang out, and I found you, and now you're here. You're free to go at any time, you know."

Christopher almost sounded angry, and it hurt, but Jesse wasn't sure why. He barely knew this guy.

"I'm sorry," Jesse apologized again.

"It's fine, Jesse. Listen - I'm not out to hurt you, or anything like that. Let's just say I've seen my fair share of bad times. I know what it's like to hurt, and if I could help someone else get through it, then at least I'd leave this world having accomplished something."

The tone of Christopher's voice made Jesse believe that the man was serious.

"Okay."

There was a somewhat awkward silence and Christopher decided to leave. The kid needed to rest.

"Do you think you'll be okay?" Christopher asked.

"I hope so," Jesse answered truthfully.

"Okay. I've left the pail here near the bed, if you need it. Try to drink more of the Gatorade. If you need anything, just yell. I'll be in the room right across the hall."

"Thank you," Jesse mumbled, curling up a little tighter.

"I'll see you later, Jesse. Have a good night."


	4. Chapter 4

Jesse had been right - things did get worse.

He had managed to sleep for another hour, but had woken up feeling overly hot. He'd thrown his blankets off only to suddenly feel extremely cold. This was followed by another round of vomiting. The Gatorade that he'd drank had come back up, along with more stomach acid.

Jesse felt so bad that he wanted to cry. Besides being in physical pain, the memories kept coming back. He felt his chest tighten up as he thought about Jane, and everything else that had happened. The stress of all of it kept him up the rest of the night.

00

Christopher found him early the next morning, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, eyes red and puffy. He was shaking again.

The sight had Christopher worried.

"Jesse," he said, keeping his voice low. "I brought you some breakfast."

Jesse didn't have the energy to sit up. He just continued to lie there quietly.

Christopher wasn't about to give up, though.

"I know you're not feeling well, but you need to eat something." The truth was, he was worried about what would happen if he didn't. The boy's ribs were painfully visible and his stomach looked almost concave.

No answer.

Shaking his head, Christopher walked up to the bed.

"I'm going to help you sit up so you can eat."

Jesse glanced at him.

Christopher took that as a sign that he understood what was going on, and put the food down. He carefully reached under Jesse's armpits and hoisted him up, placing a few pillows behind him to help.

In the big bed with all the pillows around him, Jesse looked like a little kid.

Christopher placed a tray on Jesse's lap.

"You don't have to eat all of it, but you have to eat some. It should be easy enough on your stomach."

Jesse looked down at the tray. There were four pieces of plain toast and a banana, along with another bottle of Gatorade. This time it was fruit punch flavored.

Hand shaking, he picked up one of the slices of bread, put it to his lips and took a small bite, then another. Then he put it down.

"That was a good start," he said. "Now do you want something to drink?"

"Okay," Jesse whispered. He let Christopher hold the bottle to his lips again. The cool liquid felt good against his raw throat. Hopefully, he wouldn't throw it back up later.

He allowed Christopher to feed him after that. The man let him take his time eating, and didn't try to push him too much. He'd ended up getting down an entire slice of toast and most of the banana before starting to feel sick.

"I'm sorry," Jesse said, worried that he had disappointed Christopher somehow. Again he wondered why that was, but he pushed it away. He didn't have the strength for deep thoughts right then.

"There's no need to be sorry."

"Okay."

Christopher smiled.

"You just rest. I'm going to let Sweetie out and do some gardening, but I'll come back to check on you."

"Okay."

"One more thing," Christopher bent down to pick up a bag. Jesse hadn't noticed him carrying it in, but he hadn't really been paying attention either. "I have some clothes for you."

Christopher pulled a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt out of the bag and placed them on the bed.

"Those should fit you."

"Uh… thanks," Jesse replied, picking up the shirt. It had the cover of Metallica's Puppet Master album on it.

"No problem. I'll see you later."

"Yeah, okay," Jesse answered. After Christopher left, he laid back hoping to rest for a little bit longer.

00

The morning was filled with trips to the bathroom. The diarrhea part had kicked in. It was bad enough to where Jesse considered bringing blankets and a pillow in so he could be close when the next attack occurred. Running back and forth hadn't been an easy task.

Jesse's body still hurt, too. If there was a hell, this was what it probably felt like.

Christopher did come in to check up on him. He brought food and more Gatorade and some generic Immodium, and Jesse was grateful.

"It'll be over soon," Christopher reminded him. "You just have to get through the next few days."

"It's killing me," Jesse replied. "It hurts so much."

Christopher truly seemed to feel pity for him.

"Would it help to have a distraction? You could stay on the couch in the living room, watch some TV."

"That might help." Lying around with nothing to consider but his pain and demons wasn't doing Jesse any good, that was for sure.

Jesse forced himself to eat a small amount of food, and then slowly followed Christopher out to the living room. As he walked, calmly for once (instead of running full speed to the bathroom), he noticed how much better he felt now that he was clean, and wearing clean clothing.

Once in the living room, he plopped down on the couch. He'd taken a blanket with him and wrapped it around himself, resting his head on a throw pillow that he'd found.

Christopher grabbed the remote from the entertainment center and handed it over.

"You can use the guide to see what's on. Just press the red button."

"Thank you," Jesse whispered.

"It's fine. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go back out. Sweetie's about done playin' outside though, so she may join you."

Jesse looked past Christopher to see that the beagle was indeed standing in the doorway.

"Yeah, sure. I like dogs."

"Good. I'll be back soon enough. You two have a good time."

00

Right after Christopher left, Sweetie moseyed on over and climbed up next to Jesse, then laid down next to him. Jesse had to admit, her presence was somewhat comforting.

He turned on the television, flipping the channels before eventually settling on Cartoon Network. It had been forever since he'd watched that.

The cartoons did their work and distracted Jesse from many of the thoughts flooding his head. They only came back when the commercials came on.

Desperate to think about something else, Jesse looked around the room. He hadn't studied it all that much when he'd first seen it, and so he had missed the numerous photos that lined the walls, along with decorations that Christopher certainly would not have picked out.

The place looked like a woman had designed it. The photos were hung perfectly straight, and everything seemed to be in its place.

The first picture was interesting. It was a young man – probably Christopher – dressed in an army uniform. The name "Reynolds" was written on a patch on his jacket. Jesse guessed that that was his last name. He had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and was standing next to another man who was dressed similarly. The second man was giving a thumbs up, while Christopher was smiling.

The second one showed Christopher again. This time, he was standing next to a woman with a large group of people standing in the background. It was clearly a wedding photo, one that was taken quite a long time ago. The bride – a pretty blonde – had shoulder length hair and wore a short sleeved wedding dress, while Christopher had long hair and a mustache. Both were grinning from ear to ear. Jesse had to smile; they looked like he had come right out of a 70's B movie.

There was another photo of Christopher and his wife. It looked to be taken at a later time, maybe in the early 80s. Christopher's hair was shorter, though his wife still looked pretty much the same. In that photo, he could see in better detail how pretty she was. She probably could've been a model.

The fourth photo once again showed Christopher and his wife, but now there was a little boy standing there too. He had blonde hair, just like his mother, but his smile matched Christopher's. He couldn't have been more than eight years old. Jesse figured that the kid would probably be closer to his age, now.

The last photo was only of the boy. He was wearing a cap and gown and had a more serious look on his face. That had to be his graduation picture.

There were other pictures, too. Pictures of various people – friends, other family members, most likely. It looked as though Christopher had had a very full life, with many loved ones. And yet, here he was, living by himself with only a dog for company. Jesse wondered what had happened.

00

Christopher returned for the last time in the late afternoon. He looked tired, covered in sweat, but he also seemed accomplished.

"I put down fifty six tulips, three rose bushes and a peach tree!", he announced.

"You grow peaches?" Jesse asked.

"I grow lots of things. Didn't you notice the garden out back?"

Jesse shook his head. He had been more focused on painting and getting back to his dealer than looking around.

"Ah, well, you can go look when you feel better. I got a lot back there. Raspberry bushes, tomato plants, green beans, carrots – you name it, I probably got it. It's were I get a lot of my food from."

"That's cool," Jesse said, sincerely. He hadn't known anyone who had had such a big garden before, never mind one big enough for a steady supply of food.

"Anyways, I'm gonna get washed up. If it's alright by you I'd like to catch the game tonight. Cardinals vs. the Redsox."

"Yeah. I mean, it's your house and all," Jesse replied.

"That it is. I'll be right back, then."

00

Christopher came back out dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a white wife beater.

"How you feeling?" he asked, as he walked in. Jesse was still in the same position that he'd left him in hours ago.

"Okay… haven't had to run off." He didn't want to complain about how bad his body hurt. He had taken up enough of Christopher's time and energy as it was.

"That's good. See? Things are getting better."

"Yeah," Jesse agreed.

"Do you think you can eat anything for dinner? I was gonna make some pasta."

"Maybe," Jesse answered. Though he hadn't been sick in hours, he felt a little wary about tempting fate. Still, he didn't want to upset the man by turning him down. "I mean, yeah, that would be good."

"Good boy. Let me go feed Sweetie and get on cooking and then we can watch the game."

00

Forty minutes later, Christopher was sitting back in his recliner, feet up on an ottoman. Jesse was still curled up on the couch. Sweetie remained at his side.

Jesse's stomach hurt, but again he kept his mouth shut. It wasn't as bad as it had been - he probably just wasn't used to eating regular amounts of food. He tried to focus on the television to keep his mind off it, but he considered baseball to be fairly boring.

Out of respect, he waited until the commercials to speak up.

"Stupid Adams, he's gonna ruin the game," Christopher said, glaring at the television. Apparently the Cardinals were losing.

"Mr. Reynolds?" Jesse asked. He hadn't really intended to use the man's last name, but for some reason, he felt more comfortable doing that than calling him Christopher. Maybe it was all those years calling Walter 'Mr. White'.

For his part, Christopher seemed surprised by the use of his last name.

"Excuse me?" he asked, turning towards Jesse.

"That's your last name, isn't it? Reynolds?"

"It is. Where'd you hear it? It's not on the mailbox out front. You weren't snooping through my stuff, were you?"

The question stung Jesse more than he would've liked to admit, but he couldn't fault the man for it. He was a homeless, junkie prostitute after all.

"No…It's on your patch in that picture." He pointed at the army photo.

"Oh. Oh! Sorry about that, kid."

Jesse shrugged, trying to push the sting of the accusation out of his mind. Maybe some small talk would help.

"How long were you in the army?"

Christopher looked up at the photo for a few seconds, then sighed.

"Four years. Last four years of the war, actually."

"You mean Vietnam?"

"Yessir. 101st Airborne air assault team." He looked back up at the photo. "That there was my buddy Johnny. He and I went to high school together and got drafted together and even got sent out on tour together."

"That's cool. Did you guys like, fight together?"

"Sometimes. He was in the airmobile division. He died a year in. Sniper shot. Never saw it comin'."

"Oh… I'm sorry," Jesse said, "I shouldn't have asked."

Christopher forced a smile.

"It's okay. He was a good man, a good friend, and his death was quick. Needless, but quick. I put the photo up when we first moved in and just never had the heart to take it down."

Jesse wanted to ask about the rest of the people that he'd seen but decided not to. Christopher's wife was probably dead – that would explain her not being there, and maybe his son had moved away. He didn't want to bring up any more old wounds. Instead, he once again focused on the television and watched the game in silence.


End file.
